


A Bat Dream

by Lillianrhys



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992)
Genre: 'Cause he's kind of a dick, A lot - Freeform, Action, Alfred Humor, Attempted/Aborted Necromancy, Blood, Bruce Wayne Broods, Death, Dracula is mostly amused, Everyone's kind of a dick, Humor, It's Gotham, Kidnapping, M/M, Manly Swoons of Bat Justice?, Poetic Old World Wooing, Romance, Stuff goes down, Violence, really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 16:19:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3857080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillianrhys/pseuds/Lillianrhys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Batman VS Dracula: A different spin on the biased cartoon. Batman's falling fast, and it's a spiral into the world of the night when he realizes he's falling for Dracula! SLASH (Taken from my FFN Summary)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alucard

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for A Bat Dream:  
> This is most definitely Slash, or Male on Male, M/M, Yaoi, A gay romance fiction. Whatever you want to call it. It will likely get explicit at some point or another, wherein which the chapter will be taken only to Archive of Our Own to remove any chances at banning. It contains Vampirism, dark themes, mature themes, and I know more about the Batman universe than I did when I set out to write it. Some concepts, ideas, and the element of 'realism' will come from Nolan's Batman, but other element will come from the comics, Animated Series, etc. Dracula will be based heavily on a blend of the Dracula from the Batman Vs Dracula movie, the Bram Stoker's Dracula movie, The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova, Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles for some very specific powers and abilities, and my own imagination to bridge the gap.
> 
>  
> 
> TLDR:  
> Batman has gay lurvin, Dracula will be BAMF and actually Immortal, not Emo, and Batman will be less whiny in later chapters, since he will get over a lot of his old hangups in short order. Lots of Brooding!Batman, Bad-assery, And Alfred being a dick.
> 
> (Taken from my FFN Profile)

**Chapter One: Alucard**

Bruce's eyes had been drawn from the moment he had made his appearance. He had been wary, instincts on alert, screaming something was  _wrong_. He seemed to glide into the expanse of the glimmering ballroom, a tall shadow screaming aristocracy. The formal suit had obviously been tailored for the man's figure, shadow-stained pants and jacket matching the sheen of his hair, encasing the muscular physique, emphasizing the trim waist with a deep burgundy waist-coat. The old-fashioned cape was oddly fitting, high-collared and deep crimson, completing the ensemble with a dramatic flair.  _He must have been foreign_ , Bruce had thought to himself. He knew that Alfred had preferred such a traditionally formal style, even when it was just the two of them. He had always brushed it off as an old man/British thing. Obviously there was more to it than that.

But when he had introduced himself, Bruce had felt a niggling in his mind.  _Alucard_. Purred out in a smooth, low tone, his very voice  _dripping_  with seduction. His accent was Romanian, the harsh 'R's rolling off his silver tongue without difficulty, though the differences between 'F', 'W' and 'V' seemed to be a struggle. Bruce noted that the man knew English quite well, despite the thickness of the accent. His movements were graceful, to a degree that seemed effortless. As if he moved through a different means than musculature power, though there was no denying that the man was well-muscled, like Bruce himself, though Bruce was the shorter of the two.

But the things that had captured his attention the most were _those eyes_. Pale blue, and almost liquid, they swirled like molten lava, burning trails where those orbs glanced. _Dangerous eyes..._  They raked over Vicky appreciatively, and Bruce felt a mild twinge of envy spark. But then they fell on him, and he felt stripped bare under those eyes, all of himself laid at Alucard's feet, everything the other might have wished to know.  _Even about the Batman_. The soft music and laughter faded away slowly, and he felt almost lost. Bruce felt a shiver race down his spine, though he suppressed it visually. Unconsciously, he wet his lips, and those eyes traced his every movement with a predatory hunger.

A quick breath cleared his mind enough to calm him a little, the air swirling with the scents of thousands of expensive perfumes and delicious foods, and he turned to Vicky with a charming smile, handing her the drink he had been carrying in his hand the entire time, which she took with a returning smile and a small sip. He put on all of the charm his persona possessed as he spoke with her and Alucard genially. It was then that he realized how fake he had been  _as Bruce Wayne_  towards her. Bruce Wayne had become his alter ego, almost. His nights were consumed as the Batman, his life focused on the people of Gotham, protecting them as the Dark Knight. Bruce Wayne was his cover now, the person he pretended to be for the sole purpose of avoiding the scrutiny of the identity of the Batman as him.

He felt a little guilt. Bruce Wayne was a playboy with a harsh past, more than happy to hide himself behind a carefree attitude, and copious amount of rich-people fun after having traveled the world for a few years after college. He had even fooled himself into believing that there was a special something he had felt for Vicky. A beautiful woman, to be sure. Her bright red hair, slender limbs, big blue eyes, cupid's bow lips. Everything about her spoke of softness. And it was right then and there that he realized how wrong for him she was. She wouldn't be able to handle the truth about the Batman, nor would she ever let the matter rest, with her relentless pursuit of knowledge. She was a reporter, after all.

Without the ability to protect herself, he knew, she would be targeted should any of the Arkham escapees ever find out the Batman's identity, not that she was not already a target from her line of work alone. And she would not be able to rescue herself. As much as he was the silent protector as the Batman, he did not want to have to play hero as Bruce Wayne drawing attention to himself in ways he didn't want, or even having to pretend that he was unable to save her and give halfhearted apologies because of it.  _No_. He needed someone capable of handling not only the fact that he was the Batman, but able to defend themselves against any villain that eventually came knocking.

He would have to tell about being the Batman to explain his frequent, and, more often than not, long disappearances. He did not want to have to lie in a relationship. He sighed inwardly. He would have to tell her as soon as possible so as not to lead her on. He kept his gaze towards Alucard, and was vaguely unsettled to notice that those eyes had not left his form since they had taken their leave of Vicky. The conversation drifted back to him slowly with that realization. Alucard was a foreign anthropologist. His interest in the Batman was a little unsettling, but Bruce always felt heavy scrutiny whenever someone not in the loop mentioned the Batman to him. It was almost like a guilty secret, though he was  _not_  ashamed. Whenever someone spoke of it, he always had an unsettling lurch in the pit of his stomach that he concealed carefully.  _They know!_  his mind would scream at him. He knew they didn't, but the fear was always there.

Not wanting to seem suspicious, nor remain silent too long, as they were telling, he put on his usual Bruce Wayne charm, and led them both over to the machine, explaining it as, essentially, bottled sunlight for the purpose of energy efficiency in a "green" manner. Alucard looked interested, and commented with a slightly disgusted tone, "It is about time that humanity found a use for the sun." Bruce puzzled over that tone and the statement for a moment, wondering at the wording. But then he brushed it aside for later. It was probably something about the field of anthropology, anyway. They generally tended to separate themselves from humanity as they studied the nature of it. Vicky just looked awed, and then wandered closer to Bruce, asking about the mechanics of it. Her hand rested on his arm, and Bruce gave her his vacant-of-actual-feeling laugh, moving to gently disengage the limb with a natural movement, and told her that, while the invention was under his name, he had no clue how it worked. He explained that the tech people had yet to explain it to him. Alucard still watched him, a contemplative look on his chiseled features.

In truth, Bruce knew exactly how it worked, having designed most of it himself, Wayne Tech's ideas and advances usually came out of a necessity for something for the Batman. But Bruce Wayne was a figurehead, a vapid person with little on his mind. Why would he know of such things? Vicky's disappointment was minimal, and she quickly moved on to other things, mingling with the guests, soaking up information like the reporter she was. Bruce was glad that he had realized sooner how wrong for him she was. It would have been disastrous, having her hound him for information day and night.

That left him alone with Alucard. The man's drink had remained untouched. Bruce rose a brow at the man with a slight smile. "Champagne not to your liking?" he asked with a mildly joking tone. Alucard smirked, perfectly white, even teeth gleaming in the golden light of the chandeliers.

"I cannot bring myself to drink it. I never drink wine of any sort, but this one has a light smell to it that I can bear to have around me." He said, setting it down on the nearest table where it was whisked away by one of the good waiters Alfred had hired for the night. Bruce shrugged, and took a sip of his own previously untouched glass.

"So where in Europe are you from?" He asked with a vague interest. He had never been to much of Europe, having searched for Eastern fighting techniques and methods to effectively recycle his pain into something more useful.

"Romania." He answered, eyes flitting toward the spacious windows, glancing out at the moon, which hung very nearly full. Bruce glanced there as well, out of habit, and found no Bat Signal. With an almost relieved smile, he looked back at Alucard, taking in the relaxed stance the man had taken.

"Can you tell me about it? I've heard much about the stories. You know, Dracula, and stuff like that. But I've never actually heard about the people, or what the land looks like." He asked, genuinely interested. Alucard turned toward him, surprised.

"Why the sudden interest in my homeland, Mr. Wayne?" He asked, glowing ice eyes piercing. Bruce shrugged.

"Please, call me Bruce. I used to travel for a while, but I did not see much of Western Europe." He replied easily, and led them over to a table. Alucard waited for him to sit before doing so himself, as though out of custom and habit. Bruce wondered what kind of tradition that was. Where it had originated from. He would have to research it later, he thought to himself. Alucard smiled genially and nodded his assent.

"Then,  _Bruce_ , I will tell you." He said, drawing out Bruce's name with an unidentifiable emotion behind it, and a predatory gleam in his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, and paused a moment to consider it. "It is a beautiful country, as a whole, though depressingly rainy most days. There are mountains everywhere, and old castles crumbling along the countryside, like broken bone splitting the skin of the earth, vacant of all life." Bruce could easily imagine such a land, picturesque in its dark state. A goth kid's dream.

"At night, when the moon is gone, the wolves run through the forests howling as if they know it unsettled the people living beyond the edges of their lands. They cry for war amongst the humans, and against themselves, howling for blood. Their battles are fierce, even when they fight each other. It is a savage land, and one can hear the other animals of the night clearly within the valleys. Their calls echo across the mountainside, like dying screams. _And the roads!_  The roads are old, and paved in cobblestone, and the sounds of carriages and carts wheeling over them is like a great cacophony during the day. Even though the turn of the century had demanded a different mode of transportation, you can still see horses and carriages in the villages and along the less populated areas. It is as though they are in their own time, another world, as it were.

"And the people are wary, cold, like the mountains the live beneath. Their folklore is dark, their stories told back for more generations than they can count. They are hard people, and they work hard for the land they live on, tending to their meager farms with as much effort as they can to make it prosper. Winters are harsh and bitter, as the cold sweeps through the valleys from the mountains. The summers are languid, warmer than most would think, which is good for the farms, I suppose. I lived in the mountains, in an old family home. It was large and drafty, and almost unbearable in the winters. But I know the people of village below me lived in smaller homes, made to better withstand the cold." He said, eyes distant.

He could picture the land, having been almost transported by Alucard's poetic words alone. Rolling hills and mountains dusted with dying evergreens, the sky painted a deep gray. He could envision the old roads, great black horses pulling carriages during the night, speeding past the forests as wolves prowled beyond their boarders, eyes and teeth gleaming in the flickering light of an oil lamp. He could even imagine a small village at the feet of a great, spiraling road leading up the mountain, and an old, beautiful castle sprawled out at its peak, the cold stone floors covered in thick carpets, the walls covered in oil paintings of generations passed and tapestries of their deeds. Though, Bruce could not imagine Alucard, dignified and regal as he seemed to be, living in anything but a castle, lounging on an old and crumbling stone throne, looking every inch the nobleman at rest, despite the age of the place he lived. He could picture an old, fur-lined blanket tossed carelessly over the throne for warmth, obscuring the long legs and hips from view. He tilted his head. "What about your family?" He asked, wanting to know more. He wasn't sure what bout this man had him so captivated.

Alucard's eyes looked at him, a question in their depths that Bruce could not decipher. "I lost my wife long ago in an accident. My parents died when I was very young of fever." Immediately, Bruce stiffened a little, his own cyan eyes widening in sympathy and opened his mouth to apologize, knowing how it felt to have someone bring up decidedly painful memories. But Alucard waved it aside with a gracefully careless gesture. "They died before I could begin to remember them. I was raised by my aunt, and she vanished when I was twelve with a man she would fallen in love with. I have lived on my own since my wife died." He said and looked at Bruce. "And what of you?" He asked, icy eyes burning into Bruce's own.

Bruce blinked. It was a little refreshing, being asked, instead of having everyone presume they knew everything about his childhood. "My parents were murdered when we were walking to the train station after an opera when I was ten." Alucard's face remained mostly impassive, but he saw the sympathy. Not pity, not apology. Just sympathy. Relieved, he continued. "I was raised by Alfred, my butler, after that. I traveled after college for a while. Korea, China, India, Africa, Japan. And then I came back here to reclaim my family's company and try to help Gotham out as much as I can." He finished. Alucard nodded, and smiled. Their eyes connected intensely, and Bruce found himself standing suddenly. "Would you care to join me on the terrace? I think I could use some fresh air." He said, and Alucard stood and followed.

The moonlight shone down, painting the world in silver. The light shown over the beatific gardens that Alfred and the others tended to, rose bushes, carefully trimmed hedges, primrose, morning glories climbing over marble statues and around gurgling fountains. The light made Alucard seem much paler, and his eyes seemed to glow all the brighter. It was a cool night, though not very cold, and the sky was lit with glittering stars. Bruce felt himself shiver a little from the cold, and Alucard moved closer. The man was not terribly warm, but Bruce did not mind. There was almost a kinship between the two of them. The silence was not stained in the least. He looked at Alucard more closely now, noting the refined features, the straight posture, the impressive height. Alucard rose a brow at him and Bruce realized he was staring. He turned away, but not before catching the tiniest smirk on the man's face.

Unsure of why, he felt heat rush to his face. Not enough to color, but enough to note the difference in temperature. Bruce looked at Alucard again, only to find those eyes staring at him intensely, and he felt himself slip ever-so slightly into a gentle lull. What followed next was something he was not sure he remembered correctly. _Strong arms were wrapped around him, a slightly cool body pressed against his own, and drug-like kisses, heady and intoxicating, that trailed from his lips to his jaw, down his neck, and a light nip at his throat. Bruce heard a groan slipping past his lips, panting, clutching at Alucard's obviously male body as tightly as possible, needing it closer. The heat emanating from him was almost searing, he pressed closer, feeling that mouth suckling at his throat, drawing sounds from him he had never even thought of, let alone heard._

And then he was back to standing next to Alucard, who was watching him as though nothing had changed. In an instant, Bruce was blushing.  _What the hell was that all about?_  He wondered. A fantasy? About a man! Another smirk, wicked and almost smug stretched over Alucard's lips. And Bruce looked away, not wanting to see that mouth, and think about it once more on his lips, or at his throat, or worse, traveling lower.  _No_. He willed himself to calm, and led the way back inside, realizing it was more cold now than he had originally thought, if his shivering was anything to go by. He shut the glass doors behind him, and glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight. The party would end soon. Some of the other guests had already left, and the crowd dancing around had thinned. Alucard trailed behind him as he sought out Vicky.

She was happily chatting with an older couple, gleaning information about their businesses, their ties to Wayne Enterprises. Bruce smiled charmingly at them all, and asked if Vicky would not mind speaking to him for a few moments. She was perceptive enough to know it would not be a happy chat, he supposed, as she frowned and nodded, oceanic eyes worried. Alucard excused himself tactfully, and went in search of something else to drink. That left Bruce alone with Vicky. He walked her to the double-doors leading out to the entry hall, and she got her coat as he led her to her car. Other guests were already trickling out as well. "I just wanted to say, Vicky, that it was nice having you here." He began, almost awkwardly. She seemed to catch on rather quickly.

"But this  _thing_  we have... it won't be continuing, will it?" She asked her face full of disappointment. Bruce blinked in surprise, and nodded. She sighed, and got her keys from her purse. "That's okay, Bruce. Thank you for having me." She said forlornly, and got into her car. She left quickly after that, and Bruce let her go. He quickly went back inside, and found Alucard waiting for him. The man smiled charmingly at him, and took his hand, icy eyes boring into his own. Bruce felt light-headed.  _What in the world was going on?_  He wondered to himself.  _What was it about this man that made him so_... A flash of recognition flooded him. Was he  _falling in love_? Attraction was certainly there...

"I'm afraid it is rather late, and I must be going as well." He said simply, and with a firm handshake, hands lingering longer than was strictly necessary, he parted, too. The other guests had gone by now, and Alfred came running towards him as a crash came from the direction he had been in. It sounded like a window had shattered.

"Master Bruce! He had no reflection!" He said, his shock clearly written on his face. Bruce frowned. About to ask who, Alfred continued. "One of the waiters! He came up from the cellar without a tray, and I scolded him, but he had no reflection when I glanced in the mirror!" Bruce frowned, thinking fast as he strode toward the direction of the last of the party-goers. They were gone, thankfully, but there was still the problem of whatever manner of creature the waiter had turned into. He went to the area Alfred had indicated, and looked carefully around for clues. There was a few drops of blood on the floor. He sent Alfred for Q-tips and Tetramethylbenzidine to confirm, as well as some tubes for later testing. Upon bringing the requested items, Bruce confirmed it was blood, and stood, capping the testing tubes.

Upon asking Alfred for a more calm and detailed account of what happened, Bruce frowned. That was not good. Their theory of vampires was now confirmed. A flash of the news flitted through his brain, and he began thinking at lightning speed, worthy of the World's Greatest Detective. All of those missing people... That meant the Lost Ones were Thralls now. Or worse. Immediately, he fled toward the study, pressed one of the cleverly concealed buttons, and descended with Alfred into the Bat Cave. Donning the armored costume with the speed and ease of practice, he went quickly over to the computer, and began formulating a plan silently, trying to piece together what could have happened.

He researched vampires, and for a while, came up with nothing. There was some junk about them sparkling in the sunlight, other bits about being a subset of rabies... And then finally, a rather promising book was cited. He pulled up his book database, and was happy to know he had it, despite its fictitious nature. According to the text, there had been a newly created Thrall at the party. Thralls were created instantly with three successive bites on their person. Turning a person into a vampire consisted of a blood exchange. Thralls were implicitly obedient to the vampire that created them, while vampires themselves had emotional bonds to their Sire, or maker, but were not necessarily loyal as Thralls were. Thralls had the ability to go out into the daytime and bring things to their nocturnally-bound masters, such as sustenance, money, or anything else their masters requested or needed.

He skimmed through the bits about wolves and gravity defiance, that were listed as their powers, as well as transforming into mist or other shapes, and finally came across a Dracula reference. The Batman felt his blood run cold at the old painted image of the man within the illuminated black and white page.  _Alucard_... There was no mistaking the face, nor the physique, despite the artist's rendition.  _It was him_. He felt something in his chest give a painful little twinge. Then he blinked, remembering that niggling when the man had introduced himself, and wrote down Alucard's name.

ALUCARD. And then he reversed it. DRACULA. He closed his eyes, and sighed.  _Of course. He would be falling for the head vampire of all evil._ The irony was not lost on him. But he pushed aside Bruce Wayne's emotions for now, falling quickly back into the mindset of Batman. He would need to research a cure for the Lost Ones, the Thralls. To do that, he thought to himself, he would need to capture one alive, and he would need to find Dracula's lair. Quickly, he got into the Batmobile, and roared out of the cave, leaving a slightly bewildered and still shocked Alfred to puzzle out what had just occurred.


	2. Intertwined Thoughts

**Chapter Two: Intertwined Thoughts**

**THE BATMAN**

Batman's cape swirled in the shadows, the material shining almost blue in the silvery tint of the moon. His eyes were narrow beneath the carved expression etched into the cowl, the permanent scowl lending his entire persona, regardless of his actual expression, an intensity that could not be matched any way else. He was crouched upon the ledge of a rooftop overlooking Gotham's slums, where the Batman was usually needed most when the most infamous villains were behind bars. The way people had been going missing lately...

He sighed inwardly, protective gaze still sweeping the darkened streets lit only by the occasional flickering street lamp. He didn't really want to think about what was causing these innocents to disappear, but denial had never served him before, and he wasn't in the habit of lying to himself, especially when lives were at stake. Dracula, the most infamous vampire, rumored to be the first vampire ever, was kidnapping the people of Gotham and transforming them into personal slaves. He could not begin to fathom why.

Something in his gut twisted viciously at the thought of Alucard, the impossibly charming nobleman he'd met only that evening at the party in Wayne manor being the fearsome vampire. The aristocratic man in the old-fashioned clothing, with piercing icy eyes flashing a familiar array of emotions, seemingly older than time itself... That he could be the monster that had plagued Transylvania for so many centuries, that he could be the ruthless, bloodthirsty, vicious predator that had haunted the very nightmares of the entire world for so long that even in the more romanticized depictions of him, he was still monstrous in nature.

Batman shook his thoughts away before they could cloud over his judgment and steal away his senses. Dwelling on the heart of Bruce Wayne and his surprisingly deep connection to Alucard was not how the Batman operated. In many ways, he was a separate entity from Bruce Wayne, with his own mindset, his own personality, and his own way of doing things. Yet he was not ever completely separate from Bruce. Both men had pieces of them that bled into the others' lives. Batman's ever-alert, and watchful gaze lent itself to Bruce's attention to detail, especially in the office of Wayne Enterprises. And Bruce's emotions, volatile and chaotic as they tended to be, often altered Batman's perceptions of the darkness around him.

In this manner, they were perfected. They were yin and yang. They were balanced. One for life in the day, and one for prowling in the night. Both fought injustice in their own ways, Bruce through giving glorious donations to worthy charities and helping with the reconstruction of the Narrows, and Batman by capturing and foiling the villains and criminals of Gotham.

A soft flutter of cloth rustled behind him, and Batman turned quickly, jumping down from his perch to face whatever had snuck up behind him. Only to see Aluc-  _no Dracula_.

* * *

**DRACULA**

His eyes had been a deep mahogany in life, warm, full of life and vitality. Hair unbound, falling in waves to his shoulder blades, like most of his ancestors, a sign of his nobility. He strode with his head held high, his confidence in his own power easy for even a blind man to notice. He moved quickly through the halls of the palace left to him through ancient ancestry, to the room his wife had claimed as her own, on the opposite side of the castle. No, they were not fighting, nor were they frigid toward one another. But his wife was grieving for the child they'd lost but a month ago due to a miscarriage.

It had been four months since he'd felt his wife's touch, though he was with her throughout the rest of her pregnancy. The physician had advised them to keep apart for the duration of the last three months of her pregnancy to keep from complications, but they had arisen without any help from them. The babe, their son, had come too soon, and died during the night. But now, now he was preparing for war. And his wife needed to know what may come, should he fail.

He knew that his wife would not want him to go, would beg, and plead, and weep. He had never been able to stand seeing her cry, feeling the pain as deeply as she did when she was unhappy. But he could not escape this fate. So, as he rounded the corner to the room his wife resided in, he steeled his heart. He would not be swayed from this.

 _Ilona Szilágyi_  had always been an imposing, beauteous woman as a human; her strength only outmatched by his own. She had dark amber almond-shaped eyes, which had always brightened whenever she laughed. Her cheekbones were high in her oval face, and left room for a strong Aquiline nose and a generously curved and wide mouth. Her features were smooth, and her skin fair, thought not ridiculously so, and she held a healthy flush to her cheeks.

When he entered her room, pausing to knock and be admitted first, he beheld her beauty for a moment, taking in her dark hair, and her natural pallor offset by the black mourning gown she wore. Her hair had been left to hang almost limply down her frame to the floor, and her face was set into a curious expression as she turned to face him.

"My lady wife," He said, crossing the small distance between them to gently hold her in his arms, drawing her close. He'd not held her in so very long! But she stiffened and pulled away from him, her dark eyes now narrowed in suspicion.

"I know what it is you would say to me, husband." She said, her voice bitter. "And I know that nothing I will do or say will sway you." He stepped back a moment, surprised. But she continued, venom ladening her tongue. "You always must go to fight in the wars, and nothing a woman can do or say, no matter how she begs, no matter what you leave behind, she knows she may never see her love again. What would you have me say, husband?" She demanded now, her eyes flashing, her face paling in her anger. "That I give my blessing to the chance that you may be killed, and I left with naught but a broken heart?"

Vlad felt like recoiling. But he was determined to see this through without any more damage, not only to his pride, but also to his wife's tender heart, still healing from the loss of their firstborn. Before his very eyes, his wife was transforming, her skin loosing all color, her eyes hardening, gleaming with sadistic enjoyment, her finery becoming stained with blood, and the world around them awash with flame as she laughed, crazed and bloodthirsty. And she rose up against him, nails lengthening and blackened as her heart was, before rushing at him with a chilling scream.

And then the sun set, and Vlad woke, away from the memory-turned-nightmare. His face was set impassively. There was work to be done. He had to bring the people of Gotham under his control, to prepare for the bloodbath that would follow the resurrection of his late wife. She would be most displeased it had taken him this long. And that she had died at all. He inwardly shuddered at the thought, and waved off the little human that had been first brought under his sway scurrying around him, asking if there was anything he needed.

Instead, he left the crypt that housed his coffin, and quickly allowed himself into Bruce Wayne's gala. The decorations were suitable, he thought, looking around the brightly lit room. He spied Vicky Vale, and immediately gravitated over to them. He introduced himself, and looked over Vicky for a brief moment. She would do. The conduit for his wife lay within her body. She would change to suit the woman he had loved and looked after for so very long. And then his eyes turned to what was undeniably Bruce Wayne.

Dark blue eyes, a very strong jaw, and an overall determined expression, well-hidden behind the lightness that a party dictated, and a mask of incompetence, though for what reason, Vlad could not fathom. He felt drawn to this strength, but also to something else. He could sense, at the very core of this being, that Bruce Wayne was ultimately a very good person. Could know that in just one moment, that he was vastly different from the woman he had devoted himself entirely to.

And desire shot through him, hot, not unlike the flames that had devoured his wife and nearly claimed him those many years ago. And he found himself lost within all that was Bruce Wayne for the next several hours, telling him of his personal history, and he was surprised that he had not lied at all. He had omitted certain facts, of course, such as when it all had happened, but he had been completely honest in answering the questions Bruce had presented to him. And he enjoyed himself thoroughly, forgetting for a moment of his deceased wife, of his plans to bring her back, and simply let himself drink in the complexities that were Bruce Wayne.

And then, shortly before the party ended, he locked eyes with him once more, entering Bruce's mind in time to catch a most sensual image. He wondered if he would one day be able to make it a reality. A smirk crossed his expression before he could catch it, and his eyes fairly gleamed as they took in the faint flush Bruce now sported. And then the party began to wind down, and he ceased the opportunity to create another Thrall before making his exit.

And even now, as he hunted down this Batman that laid claim and dominion over Gotham City, he could not keep his thoughts far from Bruce. Imagine his surprise, then, when he came across the Batman, and all he could smell was Bruce Wayne...


	3. For Something New

**Chapter Three: For Something New**

The Batman had yet to move, frozen as he was in the face of Dracula's strangely-gleaming, arresting eyes as they trailed over him. He fought the urge to fidget uncomfortably. Batman was never checked out so blatantly. Ever. Despite this, he forced himself to remain calm, crouched in his battle-ready stance, eyes narrowed behind the mask of his cowl. What was the vampire doing? He wondered as Dracula strolled forward carelessly, graceful as ever. The elder wore a sinful smirk, and the shadows on the rooftop seemed to dance around them.

"Bruce! How wonderful it is to see you again!" He purred with delight. Batman grew impossibly still, not saying a word, but that seemed to be confirmation enough, because Dracula chuckled and stalked ever closer. Batman straightened proudly, refusing to let himself be intimidated. "It seems we simply cannot stay away from one another, can we?" Dracula continued gaily, unholy glee shimmering over his aristocratic face. Batman narrowed his eyes.

"Get out of my city, Dracula." He growled lowly, his voice not at all the smooth timbre of Bruce Wayne's. This did nothing to change Dracula's expression, save for widening the smirk on his features.

"Now, Bruce." He said chidingly, his tone teasing, yanking at the Batman's heart, the one Bruce Wayne inevitably had given up all too easily. He ignored it, and stiffened when the vampire disappeared. He whirled around, and there Dracula was, mere centimeters away, yanking the cowl from the Batman's face. Bruce Wayne's eyes stared out of the stony expression Batman had left in his wake. This did not deter Dracula, either. Cool fingers traced their way over his jaw and mouth. But Batman remained unmoved. Dracula watched him still, his face still stretched in mirth, eyes burning and curious. "I think it's time for a change." he murmured, the sound so faint, it wouldn't have been heard had they not been so very close together. Batman didn't think the thoughtful words were actually meant for him. He answered regardless.

"What change?" He asked. He didn't expect an answer, the other was now trailing those slowly warming fingertips over the hardened Kevlar armor of the Bat suit almost absently as Dracula's eyes now grew distant and calculative. Wary, Batman took a step back, but Dracula took a step forward, seeming to need to remain tactile with him as he pondered whatever change he had spoken of. Long minutes passed, the silence filled with nothing but the rustle of early autumn leaves, the chill of late September biting, the pounding of Bruce Wayne's throbbing heart, and the thoughts of an ancient evil with the strangest ability to evoke the devil's sympathy. And Bruce Wayne's ill-advised love. Batman stared impassively now, as everything calmed. He had expected a battle, expected taunts, expected Bruce Wayne's heart to shatter under the vampire's well-known cruelty. None of this had happened.

"Yes, this change will be good." The elder spoke suddenly, softly. His eyes now snapped back to Batman. Riveted. Fixed. And once again searing hot. "A change in plans. I will not leave this Gotham. Not while it still holds its sway over that which I now swear myself to." Batman frowned, eyes narrowing in both confusion and worry. "But I am open to negotiations concerning other things."

About to reply that there would be no negotiations, Batman was interrupted by a scream. The cowl was back in place in mere moments, and Batman left Dracula there in an instant. He leapt from the rooftop, and using his grappling hook, he swung himself upward as high as possible, and used an electric current to stiffen the Bat cape to glide through the air in search of the source of the scream. It didn't take him long to find it. The Scarecrow was at work, using his weaponized fear gas over the streets near two prominent banks. The chaos included all manner of people screaming and running from their worst nightmares and hallucinating everything else they saw as nightmares too. Batman was quick to pull the antidote capsule from his belt and take it quickly, then threw himself into the fray, taking out the Scarecrow's gas mask-covered goons and then searching through the chaos to find Crane himself.

So it was with no small amount of surprise when he found the doctor standing perfectly still, mask-less, staring at Dracula with nothing less than absolute loyalty and worship. Batman spotted the puncture wounds on his neck, and then looked to Dracula with narrowed eyes. The vampire looked exceedingly proud of himself. "I believe we have just found the terms of negotiation." He then looked up into the sky, and let out a low word that Batman didn't understand. In moments, as the panicking citizens slowly calmed down and the gas in the air dissipated, people began pouring forth from the shadows. Hundreds of men, women, and children all with the same blank faces, save for their worshipful stares at Dracula. Batman knew who these people were. As one the bowed before their master, who raised a hand to them all, and appeared to  _pull_...

The change was gradual, but they eventually became more and more aware. Alive.  **Free**. Batman stilled. The only ones not free were Crane, and, strangely enough, the Penguin. Both remained as they were. Batman paused a moment, and then realized what Dracula planned to do. He was setting the citizens of Gotham free, but he would enthrall the major criminals so that they would no longer pose any threat. "To what end?" Batman asked before he could stop himself. He felt Bruce Wayne's heart lift ever so slightly.

Dracula smirked at him. "To keep you to myself." Was the simple, matter-of-fact response. Batman stiffened again, and then turned. And ran. Around him, in the slowly emptying streets, Dracula's laughter echoed in the darkness, reverberating off of every surface, taunting him as his blood pounded in his ears. And the Batman ran in  _fear_.


	4. Haunting

**Chapter Four: Haunting**

Alfred was waiting for him when Bruce returned. Batman had retreated for the most part, and now Bruce was left to ponder Dracula's parting words.

Negotiations. That meant Dracula wanted to make a deal. Wanted to talk. But most of all... Wanted to keep Bruce for himself. Why? Batman hadn't been able to handle it. He'd run, unable to truly deal with those sorts of matters, matters that Bruce struggled with day to day. Batman couldn't afford to really have too much of a heart. Not when it was personal. Batman needed the protection a closed heart gave. But Bruce... Bruce needed his to thrive. But now... Bruce and Batman had little doubt that Dracula would easily be able to find every major criminal in Gotham and enslave them in little more than a week. That gave them time. He looked at Alfred, who waited patiently beside the console of the large computer screen.

"The Lost Ones are free." He said first, his voice still holding the last low growls of Batman's voice. Alfred raised his brows in surprise. "Except for the Penguin and the Scarecrow. He plans on enslaving Gotham's major criminals." Eventually he made it to the chair of the console, slouching in it with a tired sigh.

"Shall I expect less of the Dark Knight roaming the city, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked neutrally, automatically removing the armored costume as he spoke. Bruce quirked his lips upward. He knew that Alfred was worried that Batman would consume Bruce Wayne. In a way, he already had. Bruce Wayne was Batman's cover, yet Bruce had retained the heart that the Batman could not have.

They were still balanced. But... with criminals no longer able to freely cause chaos, or destroy Gotham, or do anything remotely criminal... What more was Batman needed for? The thought worried him. At one time, he had seen a way out, as if Batman were temporary, but as time went on, and Gotham became worse and worse, Batman became a much more permanent figure in Bruce's life. And then he became the most important one. For there not to be a need for Batman had seemed inconceivable mere hours ago.

Now... Now things were changing all too rapidly. Something new was emerging from the gloom of Gotham. Batman would resist. Dracula was nothing more than a monster, a mass murderer bent on destruction. But that didn't fit with the elder's actions thus far. Dracula had been at large for some time, given just how many followers he had amassed. So where was the murder? Where was the destruction? Aside from the broken window at the party, nothing in Gotham had really been touched. The people that had vanished in the nights had been returned, save two, and now there was going to be even less destruction as a result.

Bruce frowned, but kept these thoughts to himself in the lingering silence between himself and Alfred as they both returned to the main section of the Manor from the Batcave. Bruce sighed as he looked through the heavy sapphire brocade drapes hanging from his bedroom window to the sunrise as it bloomed on the horizon. Safe. Batman viewed it safe to sleep. Dracula could not attack in daylight. His minions could, but Dracula had made it personal. He would come himself. Sleep during the day. Be ready at night. That was how the Batman operated.

Bruce stripped down to his smalls and climbed into bed, intent on getting a good rest. He would need to be ready. He would need to be alert. The events of the night and being up almost all day were getting to him. Drained, as soon as his head hit the lavender-scented pillow, he was gone to the world.

* * *

Sharing dreams was a little-known, and scantly-used power that older vampires possessed. Those that had mind-reading capabilities often discovered this after their third century of unlife. Dracula had been no different. He had almost never used it, save to convey messages to his Thralls, or to speak to his wife, if she ever had been willing. The latter event was more than rare.

In unlife, her soulless cruelty was the stuff of legends, though those legends later came to depict him as the true mad one, as he often was caught cleaning up her messes. Truthfully, he had been nothing short of relieved when she was killed at last, though secretly, in the darkest corners of his heart, for though he had grown to hate that woman, he had been nothing but absolutely faithful to her. Their marriage vows had been binding, and he held them with honour, even if he grew to resent every last word...

But as he returned to the cavernous crypt, lit by hundreds of tiny candles, as the sun rose overhead, as the vampire lay himself down within his coffin to sleep, his mind sought out Bruce Wayne's. It was surprisingly difficult to penetrate the human's defenses, but did so, finding the tiniest opening as the other slept. And he slowly made himself comfortable there, entangling himself in the others' thoughts. And as they dreamed, he became a part of them, as natural as breathing, as sweet as honey and fruit.

_They lay, bare limbs entwined beneath rich and heavy sheets, hot meeting cold and both changing slowly to meet in the middle. Bruce's familiar room was now in Dracula's former castle. The windows were open, allowing them to view Gotham nestled deep within Romania, should they wish to look outside. But Dracula's gaze was only for Bruce, who lay still and quiet, fingers trailing silently over Dracula's sides._

_A melody Dracula had no name for drifted quietly in the background from some unnamed source within the castle, echoing hauntingly through the halls and reaching their ears in soft lulls. A sweet soprano breathing promises to reunite with an unnamed beloved amidst a mournful orchestra of violins and music box-like piano with the soprano's own voice entwining in itself to harmonize a duet. Dracula listened with half an ear, and resolved to find more of the woman who made such music when he woke that evening._

_Bruce's fingers stilled, and Dracula tilted his chin upward to face him, cobalt meeting ice. "Tell me what troubles you, beloved." He murmured in little more than a whisper. But Bruce remained silent. His fingers resumed their trails, and then his face was buried in the hollow Dracula's neck._

_"You're taking away my nights." He said at last, his whisper no louder than his heartbeat. Dracula smiled in the dark, his hands working out the tense muscles in Bruce's shoulders. The fears the other had felt when falling asleep would be far more honest. "You're going to destroy a part of me, and I don't know what to do. You've killed so many... But you're not doing it. Why?" Came the fearful explanations. Dracula cooed softly to the other._

_"I am taking the criminals not to stop you or change you, but to allow you rest. You know this. I'll even let them have their wills occasionally, should you want it. I know how you like to track them down and stop them. But I never want to see you collapse in exhaustion, or put yourself at risk unnecessarily._ Odihni temerile tale, iubit _." He soothed. In the mirror across from them, a few of Bruce's own memories played, showing Dracula that this had happened often to Bruce before._

_But he meant what he said. It was the truth. "And the murders of the past were never mine. Many grew to believe they were simply because they would find me cleaning up the mess. But they belonged to Ilona." He said. Bruce unburied his face to look into Dracula's eyes, his own wary, but full of cautious hope. They flickered upward to see the portrait above them change from that of a countryside scene to that of his late wife as he remembered her most clearly, the madness and anger and bloody savagery painting her once lovely face._

_Bruce's hands clutched his skin tightly. "I wish this weren't a dream." He said after a moment of quiet. The melody in the background had shifted seamlessly, the same woman now sadly reflecting on loss of something deeper than parting. The piano now rang low, far more mournful, accompanied by a low cello. Dracula pressed a kiss to Bruce's hair._

_"It won't be." He promised quietly. A low growl broke the quiet. Both turned to face the darkened corridor. Batman peered at them from within the darkness._

_"Get out of my mind, Dracula." Was all the other said._

And then, Dracula woke. And how convenient! Another one of Gotham's criminals approached. He pulled them into the coffin and fed generously. The Joker was no longer a true threat to his Bruce.


	5. Struggle

**Chapter 5: Struggle**

Bruce spent much of the next afternoon and some of the evening in a haze. The dream remained on his mind as he went through the motions of Bruce's day-to-day life. He made a press conference regarding his party, and the crash it had experienced at the end, how no one was hurt and extending his personal apologies to those that felt endangered by the incident. Board meetings, a tight schedule of pretending to act like a thoughtless playboy in several clubs, a short visit to a hotel that ended in nothing more than him overpaying the girls he'd taken with him into remembering nothing, and he was done. Alfred picked him up and took him away.

Then retreated abruptly into his home, mind still mulling over his dream, the softly spoken promises, the half-remembered words that gave him a strange sense of hope while still not quite able to ease the lingering sense of fear. The streets of Gotham were quiet that night, and several gangs were beginning to poke their heads out of the sand in the wake of the silence left behind by the absence of the super villains Batman regularly encountered. Apart from routine patrols, Batman found himself with little to do, and listlessly went to the Narrows, where there was always  _something_  happening.

And he was right. Poison Ivy had been growing toxic plants in the sewers there, sending up dangerous toxins to any who breathed near the grates above. Which, in the Narrows, was pretty much everyone. He took several samples to Alfred at the Batcave by a homing device that was programmed to fly from his location to the older man wherever he was. A call was patched in to Lucius Fox to help with deriving an antidote to the toxin and mass produce it quickly. While battling various and sundry plants, he dealt with the symptoms the citizens were experiencing, the blistering wounds, the accelerated decaying, and the painfully fear-inducing state of mind. It was a flashback to the Scarecrow's airborne drug several years ago, and many still remembered those hallucinations.

Having to spend the better part of the night battling that then administering the antidote to anyone who displayed the symptoms on his Bat-vita-scan, it was understandable that he never noticed he was being followed or watched. Until it was too late, anyway. After curing the last man, woman, and child, all of whom were quick as the others to flee the Narrows entirely, Batman turned and began seeking out Poison Ivy. That is, until a soft, smug voice on the wind called to him. "Batman! How heroic of you, saving the day. But it seems you missed one!" Poison Ivy stood at the top of a tall tower, a little girl of no more than six in the clutches of a rapidly growing plant vine.

Batman froze. "Let her go, Pamela." He growled, only to receive a laugh in return. The vines clutched the child tighter, and she whimpered, a ratty stuffed animal dangling from her fingers. Teeth grinding, he moved forward a step, and then stepped back when the vines squeezed. Ivy laughed raucously, the normally sultry sound tinged with her insanity in a way that sent his mind involuntarily back to the dream from last night. But abruptly, her laugh was cut off, and her plant uncoiled, releasing the child and setting it gently on the ground. Around Ivy's waist was a dark arm and a pale face at her throat. Her green-tinted skin paled and the plants around her withered without her power fueling their life until at last everything was normal aside from a few blackened vines falling to the ground as gently as ash.

"Dracula." Batman growled. The man in question smiled jovially to him, lips and teeth stained in blood as Ivy bowed and vanished in moments. Dracula casually stepped off the tower and landed feet first on the ground in utter silence, predatory grace in every movement.

"Bruce. How good to see you again." He purred in wicked delight. He strolled forward, the motion similar to that of a dancer's step, silent and fluid. He was careful to move at a speed Bruce could see, ice blue eyes glowing with his pleased countenance. "You've worked so very hard this evening. Might I persuade you into taking a break? Your vile little playthings are under lock and key for now. I meant what I said when I told you it would only be to allow you rest. I will not take away your nights, Bruce. I promised. I am a man of my word." He murmured persuasively.

"But you're not a man anymore, are you?" Bruce whispered, knowing it would be heard. Dracula's eyes flashed, but not with anger, as one might suspect. He seemed pleased. "What does your word mean then?" He asked. Dracula sighed with some degree of content, as if this were the answer he had been hoping to hear.

"You are not a fool Bruce. But I have made my intentions clear. You are from a time when men will say anything to get what they want. I am from a time when what a man said was always carefully chosen, as their word was their life. A man is only as good as his word, was the saying we lived by. I still do. I mean what I say when I say it, and will uphold it until I am no longer able. It was why I stayed with my wife, despite what she became, it is why I no longer work for her resurrection, as death has now truly parted us."

It was, perhaps, the straightest answer he had ever been given by an opponent. Bruce and Batman rarely encountered that kind of honesty in a person who wasn't insane. And it was true Batman could not detect a hint of insanity in the man that stood before him, nothing that lurked beneath that was more or less than what Dracula seemed to be on the surface, a man who had stood in the shadows long enough to understand them and become their master, but never tainted by them. That lingering sense of fear dissipated. Bruce felt his barriers coming down a lot more alarmingly quickly than he felt was warranted, but some part of him wanted, no,  _needed_  that surrender, was tired, too tired, of fighting.

He wanted those promises, he realized. Wanted them so badly it hurt. "Right now, the Turned are seeking your primary nemeses and Turning them as well. I will control them. When you need the fighting, when you need that purpose again, I will be more than happy to set their minds loose on the city and let you fight them." That voice continued, now a lot closer, so soothing. He was led away from the Narrows, away from the city almost entirely, brought to the graveyard, down into a darkened crypt, and into a cavern lit entirely by candles. No one else was there, no one else was around as piece by piece, Batman's armor was stripped away, as Batman was revealed to those hungry eyes, as Batman and Bruce stared helplessly back.

The armor fell to the ground with heavy clinks and thuds, the weapons and belt clattering to the ground uselessly until there was nothing but the man underneath, but even he was led away from the softly glowing light into the coffin at the center of the room, lain gently down by cool hands. His hair was stroked carefully, Dracula's own naked form lain entwined with his, so very like the dream from the previous day, but this time the touches were real, and Bruce's soft breaths, his loudly thumping heartbeat were all that broke the silence. Dracula had not truly fed in some time, as Turning required little more than a prick of the veins. But he was careful not to give into the urge, to let the lust for blood wash over him, but never control him. He would never become what Ilona had.

Bruce's muscles relaxed beneath his hands, slowly but surely letting go. The fight was gone from him. Distantly he could hear whatever little equipment Batman used to communicate to his allies calling for him, yet the noise was too low for Bruce to hear. Dracula's eyes flashed, and within moments the device was crushed. There would be no more distractions. Not this time. He sealed the crypt entrance much the same way. His minions would go to their cells or their confinements. Many authorities would later question why so many of their renowned inmates, or in Arkham's case, patients, chose willing to return. But it was not his concern. All he worried for was in his arms, deliberating his options in the dark stillness.

That was shattered quite suddenly when Bruce spoke up. "I've made my decision." He whispered.


End file.
